


golden, like daylight

by Adaris



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Chatlogs, Dad Jokes, Drinking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'd die for Wooley, Introspection, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Obi-Wan "No Concern for Personal Safety" Kenobi, Obi-Wan with Mandalorian armor AU, Post 5.16 | The Lawless, Protective Cody, Snuggling, Synesthetic Obi-Wan, The Jedi Do Not Pay Taxes!, We got it all boys, clone culture, force-sensitive cody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adaris/pseuds/Adaris
Summary: A lot of things require Cody's full focus—tactical briefings, paperwork, shooting droids, and making sure the General is alive and stays that way drift towards the top of the list. The last thing he can afford to do is split his attention any further.Unfortunately, the General seems dedicated to making it harder and harder for Cody to concentrate on work. Cody doesn't want to step out of line and get recycled, but really, what was he meant to do?
Relationships: Background Anakin Skywalker/CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Past Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze - Relationship
Comments: 101
Kudos: 868





	1. Cargo Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (15 Feb 2020: fresh chapter 1 edits babey)

It all blends into a stormy roar of color and shadow, but in his head, it’s fluorescent-lit Kamino hallway still. One foot in front of the other, easy, like sneaking outside with Rex when they were cadets. He’s out of charges for his blaster again, but there’s always another pack nearby. Every shot turns another droid to scrap, but it’s not enough, not fast enough.

Cartridge’s empty, eject and reload.

A shell hits the ground right next to him and sends him flying backwards, but before he can crack his head against the rocks behind him, something snags him by the bandolier of explosives across his chest. For a second, he hangs in midair like a toy, then the Force sets him down on his feet. The bandolier is all but embossed into his back now, but he’s alive. 

“Cody!” the General shouts.

He gives a hand signal, _everything-is-okay_.

The General nods and stands silhouetted in the smoke and fire and gestures _follow-me_. Red hair, blue sword, pale dust. Then he’s gone, doubtless headed towards wherever the fighting is the most intense.

Cody despairs of the General’s sense of self-preservation. Something about Jedi training bakes it out of every single one of them and turns them into reckless idiots. In a way, they’re conditioned to be something just the way all the _vod’e_ are. It would be less terrifying if the General wore some kind of armor. The fine weave of his tunic turns away knives just fine, but at the end of the day, it’s still fabric that melts easily under plasma fire. Cody can’t count the times he’s scraped bits of plastic out of his general’s wounds, or how many pieces never made it out.

Like he’s done a thousand times before, he runs after the General, and it’s a good thing Cody followed him. There are tanks and rollies and battle droids arrayed around him, the General’s sword flashing in bright arcs that Cody only sees as afterimages.

He takes cover behind a rocky outcropping and start scrapping the droids driving the tanks; he should get a grenade launcher for this.

“Be right back,” the General says; there’s an edge to his voice.

Cody nods. It’s his job to provide cover fire, to protect.

The General jumps impossibly high, flips once, twice, and lands on top of a tank. When he jumps away, it explodes in red fire and shrapnel.

But Cody can’t watch. He’s out of ammo again. When did he run out? Doesn’t matter, there’s always more droids to shoot, dead brothers to take ammo from, and hands to do the work. Throw away the empty cartridge and reload.

His—the General returns and slumps into the rocks next to Cody. Clothes smoking, breathing hard; Cody doesn’t spare a second to put his hand on the General’s chest to reassure him, doesn’t look at him longer than strictly required. Cartridge’s empty, eject and reload. The new one is slick with blood, or worse. Doesn’t matter. He has to do what he can to keep the General safe. 

“Final push,” the General says, grabbing Cody’s arm. “Ready?”

“ _Ratiin_ ,” Cody answers, _Always_.

They’re nearing the Objective, where the enemy forces are the thickest, and the General’s been hit multiple times, but it’s not slowing him down. Cody would ordinarily be furious, but they have to take down the shield wall, otherwise their forces will be unable to advance. That would cause what the nat-born officers call “loss of valuable resources”, the resources being Cody’s brothers.

By now, he can pick out the gentle swirl of the General’s hair and clothes in an otherwise intangible breeze, like he’s underwater; the General is drawing on the Force to sustain himself. His injuries must be worse than he’s letting on.

“Charges, Cody,” the General orders.

He almost says, “No, let me do that,” but they don’t have time to start an argument, and he hands them over without question. “Don’t do anything stupid,” is what he says instead.

The shimmering red ray shields of the Objective appear through the pale clouds of dust in the air. This cloes, the droids here are packed so tight that when the General attacks one tank, it careens into another and destroys it. _Di’kut_ clankers.

It’s easy for the General to make his way to the Objective, but Cody is a bit slower since he can’t jump fifty meters in a single bound. There are no dead out here to steal from, but he takes the clankers’ weapons easily enough. Aren’t all blasters the same? Copies of copies of copies.

While the General sets the charges against the ray-shield generator, Cody takes up behind a control panel and starts shooting the approaching clankers, but strategically, so their scrap forms a wall.

Then the General is shouting for Cody to _go_ , _now_ —and he has to, because _good-soldiers-follow-orders_. And that’s it, isn’t it?

Cody turns around to see the General fighting off three assassin droids with three more approaching from behind. The charges are set, but the General won’t be able to defeat the droids and jump out of the way in time. He jerks forward on instinct, only thinking of helping, protecting the General.

But the order echoes in his head, impossible to ignore. _Good-soldiers-follow-orders_.

Cody aims a shot at the closest assassin, and it pings off the metal carapace, but it’s been distracted, moving to finish off Cody so it can complete its own Objective. Good. Cody tries to get the attention of a second one, maybe a third, but they’re stubbornly focused on the General.

 _Good-soldiers-follow_ —

Cody shoots at the droid running towards him, and each shot would’ve gone between the eyes if it hadn’t blocked them, and the General—Obi-Wan still isn’t clear of the blast radius. He catches Obi-Wan’s eyes, blue in a world of dust and metal and blood.

Obi-Wan stretches one hand out towards Cody, telling him to stay back.

The charges explode.

The sound is so loud Cody doesn’t hear it, not really, just the nothing afterwards, he doesn’t see anything besides white—is the General okay? He blinks hard but can only see blotchy white as the world slowly fades back in, and he’s lying on the ground, blaster inches from his face. He grabs it with numb, bloodstained fingers and holds on so tight his knuckles turn white.

He moves to stand up, and it _hurts_ , so much he can’t tell what’s hurting. Doesn’t matter, there’s more steps to take, all he has to do is focus. Take all his broken thoughts and put them towards one objective. He makes his way through the wreckage of the shield generator, feet catching on every little thing.

 _General?_ Nothing comes out, and he frowns and says again, a bit louder, _General?_

Sound isn’t back yet. He keeps moving, and he’s shouting even though he can’t tell if anyone is shouting back.

His mistake is that he’s looking for Obi-Wan’s tan robes. It’s only when he’s very close that he recognizes the texture of the scorched, dark fabric.

The riverine movement of the Force through his hair is gone, leaving Obi-Wan completely still. His saber rests by his hand, forgotten.

Cody thinks he makes a noise, but he still can’t hear. Did he fail? Did he let this happen?

He’s ready to crumple to the ground right there, but then he sees something in the corner of his blurry vision and turns around with his blaster leveled. The swirling tiredness drags at his feet, and one knee hits the ground even though he’s supposed to stand, but _he’s not letting anything touch Obi-Wan_.

Not ever.

He can’t aim for shit, hands shaking, and the weight of the cartridge pack in the blaster lets him know it doesn’t matter anyway—out of charges.

See, this is why they need knives. Knives, grenade launcher. Jetpack? And armor for the General. Cody’s own, if it has to be.

He slips unwillingly to the ground; the saber hilt is right in front of his eyes. He reaches out to grab it, put it in his General’s hands, and he’s not sure if he’s managed to before the white tide surges up again.

—

Everyone thinks it’s their responsibility to ream Cody out. He gets the full _Your Brain Cells Will Get Even Lonelier After I’m Done with You Because of All the Karking Brain Damage_ from Rex, Waxer, Boil, and even the 212th’s designated baby, Wooley. Although Wooley goes the route of heavily implying he’ll cry his eyes out and be sad rather than try to murder Cody a second time.

Vess, the 212th’s immensely tired CMO, ends his speech with, “Fuck you for scaring Wooley, and don’t forget to not be stupid. If anything hurts, tell me straight away.”

“Hard to do that, because I’m so—”

“Kote, you test me.” Vess shakes his head. His hair is short on the sides, and long enough on the top to pull back into a half-knot. A few long strands have escaped their hair tie and flop in his face. “Every day, in a thousand different ways, you test me.”

Cody can’t stop himself from grinning. “Sorry, it’s all the drugs doing the being annoying. Believe me, I don’t want me to be saying what I’m saying either.”

“You’re right, but that still doesn’t excuse you. All the awful dad jokes are buried in there somewhere, they just have an outlet now.”

Cody’s just happy someone said he was right. “I’m _always_ right.”

“I’m sure you are. Please rest, otherwise I’ll sic Wooley on you.” Vess is called away by a more important medical emergency, leaving Cody alone.

There is nothing in this room, not even, like, one of those puzzle toys they gave to cadets to improve their ‘problem-solving skills’. As if the Separatists might throw a multicolored three-by-three cube at them instead of a grenade.

Would it kill someone to leave him a single datapad? Wait, no, he’s not allowed to read things anymore, not even if he really wants to read them. Fifty percent of his job is reading things. Boring things, that’s for karking sure, but if he can’t do his job, they’ll recycle him and get a slightly younger, more attractive version of him to do it instead. Cody 2.0. Jateshy’ane Cody. What if the new guy has a cooler eye scar? No, he _has_ to work, otherwise they’ll recycle him. Then who’ll protect the General? A shiny? Not fucking likely.

“Vess!” Cody tries to call, but inhaling too deep pulls on his cracked ribs, and he ends up doubled over, less coughing and more choking.

“What did I say about not being _stupid_?” Vess is back in a second, fretting over Cody. “Don’t do whatever you’re doing.”

“Don’t let them recycle me, I can still—” He coughs again, and Vess hisses, putting a hand on Cody’s chest.

“Hey, hey, shut the fuck up, idiot. They’re not going to recycle you for getting hurt.”

Cody shakes his head, trying to form more words. “I can’t _read_. Can’t do my job.”

“You can’t read for a few _days_ , _di’kut_. You didn’t magically become illiterate.” In a burst of uncharacteristic friendliness, Vess pats Cody’s arm and reassures him, “I won’t let them recycle you, okay? They’ll have to get through me, and you know what a nasty fucker I can be. Would you feel better if I told you how the General was doing?”

Cody immediately perks up, even though the slight motion makes his whole chest ache. “Yes. He’s okay, right?”

Vess nods. “Yeah, he’s stable. Burns are healing well. He’ll have to stay in bacta for a week, but he’ll be fine.”

“That’s good.” Cody slumps against his bed. It’s very good. Next time, Cody will do better, he’ll keep the General safer than houses. “Can I see him?”

“No, that’s way too exciting for you. You couldn’t handle lying down in an empty room for five minutes before you freaked out.” And Vess’ usual prickly exterior is back.

Cody looks up at him with guileless eyes. “I’ll behave. Won’t even try to get up once.”

“Oh, you won’t, won’t you?”

“I _promise_.”

Cody’s promise is worth less than nothing to the 212th’s shrewd CMO. Does the man have any values? Any sense of morality beyond his own twisted ideals of forcing people to stay in bed when they have other things to do? He might be valid for wanting to keep all the _vod’e_ safe, but he is NOT valid for keeping Cody from the General.

It turns out Cody actually said this entire rant out loud, and it does not do much in the way of convincing Vess that he’ll behave. Vess tells him to watch a few holos and get some sleep while his ribs heal, and then he leaves.

Nobody will obey him anymore, which is obviously because they’ve demoted him in preparation for melting him into 100% pure old-fashioned clone-grade slurry. Bye Cody, hello suspiciously blobby smoothie. Then his matter will get turned into a shiny squishy cadet, and they’ll ship the new him back out to serve somewhere in the Seventh Sky corps, and… that’s the circle of life.

Cody giggles. He’s really doing his part to keep the battlefield free of bodies, reduce, reuse, recycle. How many of the troopers he knows now are made of ones he used to know? Is that why they’re still friends? He giggles again, and oh kriff, he is definitely crying now, which hurts like hell, but trying to stop himself only makes it worse.

There’s a long, long list of brothers he’s let down and is letting down and will let down, and that’s the real clone circle of life.

“Cody? Are you okay?” A hand presses against Cody’s shoulder. It’s not Vess, because Vess would have smacked him.

The laughter stutters to a halt when he looks up and sees Wooley’s concerned face looking down at him.

“I—I’m fine,” he says, internally swearing to never take painkillers ever again. He has to keep it together for all the _vod’ike_. He might not be able to protect them from much, but he can do that, at least.

“I mean, you were crying and laughing in a room all by yourself.” He adds earnestly, “I’m sorry if we upset you with all the shovel talk earlier, we were just really concerned about you. I can ask Rex to not threaten you with weapons next time.”

“S’not that, Wool, I was just thinking.” He tries to keep explaining, but the words aren’t there.

“Yeah, that’ll get you.” Wooley sits down in the chair next to Cody’s bed. His face is still fresh and young, completely unscarred, although he does have a tiny crescent moon with even tinier stars dotting on one cheek, tattooed in shimmering gold ink. “You want to watch some holos instead?”

Cody nods, and Wooley turns on some program about nothing in particular, and he thinks they enjoy it.

—

There’s a soft knock on the door, and even though he knows the ship is secure, Cody still tenses. “Come in.”

“Cody? They told me you’d be in h—”

Cody’s standing before he fully recognizes the voice, and then he’s pushing open the door and tackling the person on the other side. This isn’t a hug, this is self-defense, or so he tells himself. Honed warrior instinct.

Arms wrap around him and a hand curls through his hair, and he melts into the General, like he has some shred of a right to do that.

“Hello to you too, Cody. I take it you’ve missed me?”  
Cody pulls back and checks the General over for any remaining injuries. No broken ribs, no burns, internal injuries ostensibly healed—and then he stabs a finger into the General’s chest. “You’re in deep water with me, buddy. I’ve got the whole 212th lined up to give you the talking-to of a lifetime.”

“Well, _I_ thought I told you to run,” the General teases. “I think I need to have words with you too.”

“You might’ve told me to run, but someone’s got to watch your _shebs_ , and we both know you won’t,” Cody says more sharply than he’d intended.

The General shakes his head like he’s about to start lecturing General Skywalker after a particularly idiotic stunt. “I’m a Jedi, and I am more than capable of taking care of myself—”

“You don’t even wear armor, and besides, you have a shocking disregard for your own personal safety that puts General Skywalker’s to shame. And Jedi or not, I just want you to be safe, or failing that, at least not out there recklessly endangering yourself. Is that so much to ask for?” Cody shakes his head, stepping away before he can embarrass himself further. Has he ever said so much to the General all at once? Ah, kriff. He’s really in for it now.

Something shifts in the General’s face, and Cody knows he’s said far too much, and far too personally. He’s crossed some invisible barrier that they’ve been studiously ignoring all this time, and there’s no way back.

“You want me to be safe,” the General says slowly.

If he’s burning his bridges, might as well torch them all, he thinks as he tosses a years-long relationship out the proverbial airlock. “Yes, for all it’s worth. I can’t protect you from all the messes you get into, but I can make sure you have as good a chance of getting out of said messes as any.”

“ _Brïrüd’e_ ,” the General murmurs to himself—it’s not a Mando’a word that Cody knows. Maybe it’s a swear? “Is that what you really think, Commander?”

Oh, he’s getting recycled for this. “Yes. I mean. A lot of us think that way. You take too many risks.”

The General doesn’t say anything, but he regards Cody with an oddly determined expression.

“I held onto this for you. Vess said I wouldn’t let go of it.” Cody’s kept the saber clipped to his waist the whole time, to the amusement of the entire battalion, and he offers it up like it’s made of gold.

The General’s fingers brush Cody’s palm as he takes the weapon. “I always told Anakin that his saber was his life.” He folds the saber between their hands for a moment. “I’m glad you kept it safe for me.”

Cody’s whole hand is on kriffing fire. “Yeah, me too.”

“And about armor... I’ll see what I can do. Is that alright with you?” the General asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

Cody really hopes his blush isn’t showing—little gods, his face is _burning_. “Yes, sir.”

—

“Cody,” Waxer says intently over the comms. “Cody, you have no idea what’s coming to you.”

“Don’t tell him!” Boil practically shouts, and from the echo, Cody can tell he’s yelling into Waxer’s comms from a distance. “It’ll be funnier if you don’t.”

“But it’s even more fun to make him nervous,” Waxer snickers, which earns an ‘ah’ of understanding from Boil.

“What is it?” Cody demands, but he’s only met with more out-of-context chatter.

“Well, let’s just say that there’s a reason we had to land on opposite sides of the city, and it’s not just because flanking their forces was a tactically sound idea.”

“Waxer, you’re telling him too much!” Boil yells, and the two of them degrade into scuffling sounds.

“Have fun out there, sir, and don’t forget to watch out for us,” Gregor says, audibly smiling, before the transmission cuts out.

Cody is on edge during the whole invasion. He can’t tell if he’s more nervous than usual, but Wooley’s picked up on it, and now they’re both pacing.

Scratch that, he’s definitely more worried than usual.

When they get the order to advance, he tries to concentrate on the battle before him. He needs to focus. What was it Jango always said about concentrating? He had some pithy maxim that sounded better in Mando’a than Basic, but none of the _vod’e_ had known Mando’a well enough to really get it. Cody wishes he’d learned more of the language before he’d been shipped out. Jango had genuinely tried to teach them, especially the CCs, but by necessity, their lessons ended up being in mostly military phrases.

Thinking so hard about how much he has to concentrate really fucks with his concentration.

Can’t he catch a kriffing break?

A group of clankers manages to sneak up on him, and a blaster bolt hits him in the shoulder. The impact makes one knee buckle and pain snap across his back, the energy heating his armor to near scorching. More bolts crackle in the air, and he can feel the heat of the ones that are going to kill him, but he doesn’t die. Huh.

Cody turns around and sees a figure in Mandalorian armor standing in front of him, a blue lightsaber shining in their hand. Heavy plates of beskar, painted red and black, curve to the warrior’s form, and Cody’s eye catches on the broad shoulders, narrowed waist, and toned things appreciatively. The armor is artfully made.

The warrior blocks the incoming blaster bolts easily, each motion fluid and practiced. “Cody, what are you waiting for? Move!” the warrior shouts.

Instinct has Cody take cover behind a destroyed Separatist tank, and the warrior follows.

“Please be more careful,” he admonishes. There’s something familiar about his voice, slightly distorted as it is by the helmet. The paint on his armor is old and flaking, like he hasn’t been taking care of it—strange for a Mandalorian. Also, there’s the matter of the blue lightsaber.

Cody’s about to ask him for his name, but the battle continues, and there’s no time for words.

They don’t say much but still fall into a rhythm, defending and attacking like they’ve practiced together for years. Unusually, the Mandalorian doesn’t use the repulsors, grappling hooks, missiles, or various other weapons embedded in his armor, relying only on the saber. Which has a very familiar design.

Honestly, he should have known who it was from the moment they made a dramatic entrance—but it becomes painfully obvious when the warrior moves toward a droid and flips his saber in his hand, the Force moving around him like a river.

“General Kenobi?” he accuses.

The warrior slices through the oncoming droids without needing to pay attention. “Hello, Commander. So, have I satisfied your protective instincts?”

 _I think you and Anakin are more similar than most people believe_. “We can talk about it after.”

Well, at least now he should be able to finally focus on the battle at hand.

Cody’s gaze catches on a figure in red and black armor, and his focus finds other things to occupy itself.

Ah, kriff.

—

Back on the bridge of the _Negotiator_ , Cody is burning a holomap of the city into his brain the old-fashioned way. He’s nowhere near as focused as he should be, because all he can think about is when the General will show up. If he even does.

Maybe it hadn’t been actual Mandalorian armor. Either way, it’s better protection than fabric. They could work on the color, red being for Coruscanti guards. But maybe the General liked the color red?

As he thinks this, someone walks onto the bridge and makes a big show of studying Cody’s holomap.

“So. Mandalorian armor,” Cody says.

The General takes off the helmet and sets it on top of the holo, ruffling his hair. “Waxer wanted me to make it a surprise.”

“It—it was certainly that.” Cody brushes through a few different views of the city and then gives up. “It’s yours?”

“I’ll have you know that I stole it fair and square.” The General hands a gauntlet to Cody—it’s real, not like Cody’s mass-manufactured plastic alloy. The beskar isn’t heavy, but there’s a weight to it, and Cody could swear the metal was singing under his hands like glass.

“You could have been wearing this the whole time?” Cody asks softly. It’s more wealth than he’s ever held before—an integral piece of a culture he’s been allowed glimpses of, but never permitted to join.

“Yes, I suppose I could’ve.”

“ _Why didn’t you?_ ” He hasn’t seen real Mandalorian armor since he was shipped off Kamino. Since he last saw _Prime_. Sure, Prime had tried his best to ensure that his clones followed the Resol’nare, even trained some of them himself. But there were parts of Mandalorian culture Prime could never truly share with them—including forging armor. It didn’t matter, really. There wasn’t enough beskar on the whole planet to armor five million people, and besides, the clones had armor manufactured for them. Copies for copies. Each a bit less than the one that came before.

The General tucks his hands inside the sleeves of his cloak, which means he’s lining up his words more carefully than usual. “I acquired the armor the last time I visited Mandalore. When Satine was murdered. I tried to return it, but her sister Bo-Katan, told me to keep it. That it was mine.” His gaze lowers to the ground, and he smiles almost fondly. “A long time ago, I fell in love with Satine. I wanted to leave the Order to be with her, and I almost did. But Satine was the future Duchess of Mandalore, and I was a Padawan with a lot to prove.”

“Oh,” Cody says quietly. The General still loves the Duchess of Mandalore. She was probably amazingly clever and intelligent, and not a clone of Jango Fett, and soft where Cody is calloused and scarred, and well-educated in everything from the sciences to the cultures of the galaxy. Cody knows as much about culture as he does about cattle ranching.

The General picks at some of the flaking paint, letting it drift to the floor. “I didn’t wear the armor because it reminded me of her, old memories, and—and—“ The Negotiator is briefly lost for words. “And I didn’t want that. I wanted the armor to remind me of y—of the future I could have, not the past that has been.”

_Oh._

The General is waiting for him to say something, blue eyes hard to read, full of something that could be hope, and gods big and small, _what could Cody possibly say that isn’t crazy or stupid?_ “You know, sir, this color scheme isn’t right,” he ventures. Kriff, he went for crazy _and_ stupid. “Not for the Seventh Sky.”

An almost-smile tugs at the corners of his General’s mouth. “Will you help me fix it?”

Everything inside Cody’s chest squeezes so tight he thinks he might be dying. Does the General even know what that means? He can’t possibly, but there’s no other Jedi who understands the _vod’e_ like he does. He has to know.

Judging by the way his expression shifts into softness and warmth the longer he looks at Cody, he knows.

Cody ducks his head. “You honor me.”

A gentle hand brushes the side of his cheek, and when Cody glances up, his General says, “You honor _me_ , _sha’rë_.”

He doesn’t know what that word means, either, although it feels like a significant piece of the puzzle—he wants the General to call him that again.

With the purpose of people too exhausted to sleep, they take the armor to Cargo Bay 13 to be painted. Cody helps scrub off the old stuff; under the red, there’s green and blue and purple, even some silver that shines in the low light.

“White, do you think?” the General muses.

Cody hums. “You’d blend in with the brothers a bit more.”

“Hm…” The General plays around with the paint for a bit, testing the various colors available. There’s everything from 501st blue and 212th gold to Coruscant Guard red, and he could mix others if he wanted.

Cody takes the opportunity to touch up his own armor, taking off and arranging each piece in a line to be repainted. He’s always liked the feel of the paint, and how it leaves its traces after he’s done. Unlike all the other marks the _vod’e_ pick up, only the paint brings back good memories, being together, taking what happiness they could, no matter where they were. Which is probably why the paint wears away, and the scars stay.

His General yawns and rubs at his face idly, considering his options, and he accidentally smears an arc of gold across his forehead.

“Sir, you’ve just—” Cody gestures vaguely.

“Ah.” His General frowns at his paint-spattered hands. There’s even some on his sleeves, which have stubbornly refused to stay rolled up. “Don’t you think you should call me Obi-Wan?”

Cody’s brain shorts out. “N—y—n-no, sir.”

A gentle smile tugs at his General’s lips, but there’s something in his eyes that seems almost sad. “It would make me happy if you did.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody says quietly; he’s called the General by his name in his head, but never out loud. Time becomes dreamlike; they’re sitting next to each other, but not close enough, and they’ve been that way for years. A warm resonance hums in the air, and it might be the Force, or it might be his imagination.

Obi-Wan reaches out towards Cody and, quick as wildfire, smudges a matching arc of gold on his face. “Got you,” he laughs.

“You’ve always had me, Obi-Wan.” Cody brushes his thumb over Obi-Wan’s gold mark. Before he can lose his nerve, he leans in just a bit and presses their foreheads together.

Obi-Wan makes a sound Cody has never heard him make before, soft and content, and he tilts his head so his lips are on Cody’s. His hands run over Cody’s blacks and streak them with white and gold.

No one’s ever touched him with so much intent before, and a warmth deeper than the first time he felt sunlight spreads over his skin where Obi-Wan’s hands have been.

Does he make Obi-Wan feel the same thing?

Cody threads one hand through Obi-Wan’s auburn hair and curls the other in the curve of his spine, and Obi-Wan groans in a way that says _yes, definitely, absolutely_. Obi-Wan pulls Cody on top of him hungrily, but Cody unbalances them by pushing forward too much, and they topple ungracefully to the floor, tangled in each other’s arms.

“Sorry, _sha’rë_ , I meant for that to be a bit more romantic,” says the man marked by Cody’s colors and hands and lips, like he could hold any more romance within him.

Cody kisses him again, tea and sunlight, and they don’t say anything more.


	2. Conference Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody and Rex hang out. Obi-Wan wants to talk after a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a real shame that the Golden Gaytime is known as a Cookie Crumble in New Zealand, otherwise this fic would have a different name.

“So.” Rex leans over the counter and rests his head on his hand. “What’s this I’ve been hearing about you and General Kenobi?”

Cody interrupts loudly, “Yes, we—we might have—ahem,” before he realizes that he should not finish that sentence out loud. Also, he shouldn’t have confirmed unsubstantiated gossip.

“It’s true? Wow. Good job, _vod_.” Rex slaps Cody on the shoulder.

“ _Rex_ ,” Cody remonstrates. “It was just once.”

It hadn’t lasted long. At 0600, they’d both had a meeting (the same meeting) with the commanders of the 6th and 13th sector armies. And afterwards, the General had been quick to leave all thoughts unspoken and vanish into the inner workings of the 8th Cloud Corps.

Just once, and probably not again, if current circumstances were any indicator.

“Still, that’s impressive. The Jedi aren’t known for getting into relationships wily-nily. What makes you think it’s not the start of something—” Rex gestures in an expansive arc “—more?”

Cody grabs both of Rex’s hands and pins them to the table with all the intent of a loth-cat catching a bug. “I don’t know, maybe because he hasn’t talked to me since. Can we talk about your relationship with General Skywalker instead?”

“Uh,” Rex says, drawing out the syllable far too long. “How about we table the discussion for now? You want another drink?”

Once they’re through a few drinks, and then a few more, Rex manages to make the conversation circle back to Obi-Wan. Or, Cody brings it back forcibly and drags Rex along with him. One of the two.

“By all the gods, Rex, he asked me to paint his _armor_ with him. How was I supposed to say no to that?”

“You… weren’t?” Rex ventures.

“Exactly! Exactly that. _Exactly_. Ex-act-ly.” That’s a nice word. Sharp and orderly, just like what it means. “Exactly.” He repeats the word a few more times because it’s so nice.

“You’re doing that thing again, where you…” Rex flaps a hand in the air.

Cody’s mouth snaps shut. At least they aren’t on Kamino, so behavior like that can fly under the radar. Still, he’d hoped that at least Rex would—

Rex swears under his breath and says, “Hey, hey, don’t make that face at me. I just wanted to let you know. You’re always telling me to let you know if you do something that might get you sent back.”

Cody nods and starts twisting at the back of his own hand. “I know. Thanks.”

Rex gives Cody his own hand and lets him pick at the glove he’s wearing instead. “So what actually happened between you two?”

“He kriffin’ kissed me is what,” Cody says after a long moment. “Like I was the only person in the galaxy. He called me—he called me _sha’rë_.”

“Wossat mean?”

“Slap me on the arse and call me a Sith lord if I know.”

Rex breaks down into a fit of giggles, stops, looks up at Cody, and dissolves into even more laughter. “Nine hells, I forgot how little of a filter you have when you’re smashed. That doesn’t even make sense.”

Cody shrugs again as he steals Rex’s glove and puts it on his own hand. “He knows more Mando’a than all of us put together. And it sounds _different,_ the way he says it. Like he knows the real shit and we’re… s’like he knows the real way all the words fit together. Softer, and… I don’t know.”

“I bet it’s the accent. Who doesn’t appreciate a well-educated Coruscanti accent with a voice like that?”

“It’s not that,” Cody protests. He can’t get much further into the next metaphor than ‘it’s like we speak instant caf and he speaks better than that’, which doesn’t make any sense, and he just gets annoyed.

“So, you and he fucked since then?” Rex asks with the finesse of a rancor in a museum. “It’s been a whole day.”

Cody’s jaw drops in deep moral outrage. “No! And if you’d been paying attention, you’d know he hadn’t—he doesn’t actually want to keep this going—”

Rex waves all of that away. “Have you held hands? Kissed? Snuck off on a date to the kriffin’ magic Jedi library to read holocrons together?”

“No, no, no! We’re—we...” Cody’s expression collapses into complete despair. “I think it was a one-time thing.”

“With the Order’s model Jedi? Un-karking-likely. The Jedi do not have one-night stands,” Rex says, sounding far too confident.

“I think the whole point is that they don’t get attached. Sounds to me like they’re the Order of One-Night Stands.”

Rex laughs, “Brother, buddy, _baby_ , you have fundamentally misunderstood the point of being a Jedi. They’re not supposed to be attached, and they’re not supposed to feel _passion_. Healthy relationships are on the table. And besides, one-night stands are literally fueled by passion and impulse, and that’s not what the Jedi are supposed to be about.”

“And you’d be an expert?” Cody asks, trying to raise one eyebrow and failing.

“No, this is all conjecture,” Rex says in the tone of voice that means he’s probably lying. “Anyway, the fact still stands that Jedi don’t have passionate flings for no reason. He must feel something more for you.”

Cody slumps over on the bar, face pressed against the synthetic wood. “Let’s assume that you’re right. Even so, why me?” There isn’t a shortage of admirers for Obi-Wan Kenobi, all of them more… qualified. “His last girlfriend was the Duchess of Mandalore. I’ve never even _been_ to Mandalore!”

Rex’s brow crinkles as he tried to process that. “I don’t think he has a thing for people who have been to Mandalore. That would be weird.”

It’s not about the _planet_. It’s that she came from somewhere; she had a past and a future. No one made her and expected her life as payment for the deed.

“Look, I can’t speak for him, and complimenting you feels weirdly self-serving. You and he need to have a conversation about it,” Rex advises. Great, now Cody’s taking relationship advice from his baby brother.

Besides, how is he even going to bring it up? And what if he hears something he’d rather not? They aren’t even in a confirmed relationship. What would they even call each other anyway, boyfriends? That feels wrong, people like him don’t have boyfriends. Cody has no idea how to be a boyfriend anyway, and just thinking about it makes him deeply concerned about messing it up.

Then again, what if all this was really nothing? His stomach lurches against his ribs, and all the alcohol he’s drunk sloshes sickeningly forward. “You know what, Rex’ika, I’m not gonna do that.” He’s going to forget it all happened. Easier than dealing with whatever he’s feeling now.

“Okay, you know what, I’m tired of being drunk, I can’t handle this anymore. Anakin!” Rex shouts into his comm. “ _Anakin!_ ”

As awful as he feels, Cody can still summon a bit of smugness to comment, “So you _are_ closer to him than you should be.”

Rex mutters, “No, no, no,” under his breath while repeatedly jabbing buttons on his comm.

“Who the karking Sith hells is this?” General Skywalker demands, grumpy and exhausted, like he’s been unexpectedly woken at 0400. “Oh, Rex. What’s up?” His voice turns suspiciously soft.

Cody gives Rex a meaningful look and is rewarded when the captain scuttles away to talk to his Jedi. It’s good to be right.

He rolls the glass of his drink in his hands, watching the blue liquid flow back and forth. Maybe it’s better to let it all disappear quietly. Not make a fuss. Good soldiers do not want the things he wants, they follow orders. Good soldiers are not selfish, they serve the greater good. There’s no room for anything else.

The words leave him hollow and cold, and that’s how he knows they’re true.

—

The next day, Cody drags himself out of bed shockingly late, everything from the alarm to the engine hum stabbing his senses viciously. This is the last time he drinks anything with Rex that isn’t water. Five whole minutes late. He scowls as he brushes his teeth.

Meetings between the assorted marshal commanders and Jedi generals of the Third Systems Army tend towards the morbidly fascinating. That many people in a room attacking the same problems rarely leads to agreement, and Jiila, one of the other marshal commanders, often says it’s not a real Third Systems Army meeting unless someone gets punched.

The General, true to his epithet of ‘negotiator’, is one of the few people who can carve workable solutions out of the arguments. He’s just as elegant with words as with a lightsaber, and his words are no less cutting than the saber. However, Cody doesn’t anticipate enjoying the discourse while incredibly and spectacularly hungover.

Why are they orbiting around such a bright sun? Why not consign themselves to the interstellar void?

He’s put on all his armor before he realizes he should be in greys, and he doesn’t have enough time or energy to change before the meeting. This is shiny-level idiocy.

He puts three extra sugars into his morning caf because he deserves them.

“Commander, interesting choice of clothes this morning,” Obi-Wan—the General—says too loudly. He’s got a good voice, but not that good.

Cody grunts and slurps at his caf, not in the mood to say anything.

The General regards him too closely, his blue eyes reading Cody’s armor and face and demeanor. “Oh, I see the problem. Just a moment.” He puts a hand on Cody’s shoulder. The Force shimmers to life around him, ruffling his copper hair in an intangible breeze.

Cody gets the brief sensation of standing on Naboo in the sunshine. Then Obi-Wan removes his hand, and Cody’s headache melts away. “Thank you, that was very—”

“Yes, well, I was hoping we could—”

“General Kenobi, we need you in the conference room immediately, an argument’s broken out again,” Commander Jiila interrupts. He’s from the 8th Cloud Corps, armor marked with pale green chevrons along the chest and pauldrons. “Surprisingly, it’s not Vhekad.”

“Well, either way, we can’t have that. Not at 0600.” The General ushers Cody into the room in front of him, but their conversation has to wait.

Now freed from his hangover, Cody is much more inclined to pay attention. However, the General keeps stealing glances at him, and to be fair, they’re more stealing glances at each other. Cody’s concentration starts to crumble under that crystal-blue gaze. He can’t afford to be distracted when they’re discussing strategy, but at the same time...

Cody stares into the battle map holos instead. Same blue, different effect.

Vhekad does threaten to punch and/or eviscerate an advisor who tries to split the 9th Desert Corps between two systems, but Jiila convinces him to back down. For the entire rest of the meeting, Jiila lets Vhekad squeeze his hand whenever he starts getting angry, and nobody gets stabbed. Cody can’t help but wonder what it’s like to interact that easily, to just understand what the other needs and be able to give it to them. They don’t often see each other, but when they’re together, they fit like they’ve never been apart.

Cody couldn’t have less of an idea what his General is thinking right now. His own hopes and fears are corrupting his ability to reason clearly—there’s a reason why the Jedi forbid attachment. It makes things so personal, so close, you can never know if you’re being objective. Cody’s too close to the problem, and worst of all, he’s loathe to distance himself.

The meeting draws to a close, and Cody has contributed less than he perhaps ever has. There was still enough arguing to go around, and luckily no one seems to have noticed apart from Jiila, who gives Cody a sympathetic look as he leaves with Vhekad. Gods. Maybe he _was_ obvious.

“Cody? Do you have a moment to talk?” The General stops Cody before he can make his escape. “About before?”

A hundred lies flit through Cody’s mind, each one more appealing than the last. “Of course, sir,” is what comes out instead.

The General has both hands hidden in his sleeves, which is—it’s not _endearing_. Maybe his hands are just cold.

They walk into one of the smaller conference rooms down the hallway. Cody can’t tell if he’s shaking or if it’s just the rumble of the ship’s engines, and besides, why would he be shaking? This is completely normal.

“This is out of the ordinary for me,” the General says, perching on the conference table rather than sitting in a chair. “I’m sorry that I haven’t had a chance to speak with you recently, but I wanted to—”

“It’s fine, sir, we can just forget about it. It’ll be easier for both of us,” Cody interrupts, before the General can say something worse. “I know you didn’t really have to do anything with the 8th Cloud Corps, you just wanted to leave.”

The General stares at Cody, blue eyes wide in genuine shock. “I know you were meant to find creative solutions and analyze data, but I really did have work to do with them.”

“You did?” Cody asks, realizing now that he didn’t actually think to comm Jiila to double-check. And then he’d gone off to drink with Rex at the end of the day. What if Obi-Wan had been looking for him then? No, it still doesn’t change anything.

“Jiila and I talked about rations, supplies, and fuel depots for six hours, and there was no way to avoid it, otherwise I know we’d both have managed to find something else to do. Have I really been so cold to you?” The Force starts to ripple around the General, turning the air to heat haze. “I’m sorry, I never meant to come across that way, I just—”

“Look, it’s fine. Either way, it’s safer—better—if we don’t.” The words taste bitter as lemon peel as he says them aloud. Good soldiers are not selfish, though, and he doesn’t take them back.

“Oh, well, if you genuinely feel that way, then…” The General trails off, fingers picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

Cody knows the selfless thing to do is walk away, to keep his life devoted entirely to the Republic. This is an objective fact. He has to forget the General’s touch, spreading across his skin like sunlight, every time the General has insulted an unfriendly senator so elegantly they ended up saying thank you, all of it. “It’s the right thing to do,” he says at last. Even as he does, he moves to sit in the chair next to the General’s perch.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” The General reaches out as if to touch Cody’s face, and as he stops himself and draws away, Cody leans in, like he’s being pulled by a magnet. “The right thing to do.”

“We should forget any of this happened,” Cody agrees. He’s sitting so close to the General that he could just reach out and put a hand on his thigh. Like an absolute idiot, he moves to do it, stopping himself just in time. But instead of actually stopping, his hand slips into the curve of the General’s waist. Obi-Wan’s warmth soaks through his microsilk robes like the hum of beskar, and Cody looks up into his pearl-blue eyes. They should not be doing this.

Obi-Wan moves so he has one leg on either side of Cody’s chair, gods he’s so close. The heat haze of the Force shimmers around him, just at the edge of visible. “You honestly think it’ll be easier to ignore?” he asks.

“Of course,” Cody says, both hands resting on Obi-Wan’s waist, arms on his thighs, wanting only to pull him closer. He looks up and swallows visibly, feeling at once too close and too kriffing far away.

Obi-Wan bends down and kisses the side of Cody’s face, and his touch is soft as flower petals. “I think you’re lying,” he whispers as he traces the scar around Cody’s eye with a fingertip.

They’ve been dancing around this for ages, and now Obi-Wan’s thrown it in front of Cody like a challenge.

It would be better if he were wrong.

Wouldn’t it?

Cody turns his head so his lips brush over Obi-Wan’s cheek. His hands slide up under Obi-Wan’s tunic and then down along warm skin speckled with scars. He opens his mouth to ask, _Is this okay? Can I do this?_

The answer is a resounding _yes_.

Several minutes later, Obi-Wan’s robes hopelessly mussed, Cody’s armor in a forgotten heap on the floor, they’re trying really hard to snuggle on a conference table.

“No, _sha’rë_ , lean this way or we’ll knock the table over—”

“Hold on a second, I’m trying to—” Cody makes the mistake of looking up and locking eyes with Obi-Wan, and they both smile, then laugh, pressing their foreheads together.

“Well, we certainly did have a conference on this table,” Obi-Wan says quietly.

“You’re awful. Why do I love you?” Cody snaps his mouth shut before he can incriminate himself further. He just had to go and ruin everything, huh.

“ _Nï kar’tëlï kar darasüm_ ,” Obi-Wan whispers, soft as prayer, trailing one hand over Cody’s hair.

He only catches one word— _forever_. “What does that mean?”

“It means I love you too.”

 _Forever_. The word warms Cody like daylight, curling pleasantly through his stomach, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. “We really botched our breakup.”

“Well, I didn’t want to let you go. I don’t—I was going to say it was out of the ordinary for me to feel this way. It’s been some time,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “Well. It’s been since... you know.”

“Fresh territory for me as well,” Cody admits.

“Didn’t seem that way a few minutes ago.” Obi-Wan easily rests a hand on the curve of Cody’s hip and rubs at the smooth fabric of his blacks. “I’m afraid we may be late for our 1100 meeting with the fleet admirals.”

“Kriff,” Cody says without much feeling. “That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan laughs and nuzzles his cheek, his beard scratchy but soft, too. “It really is. I’ll say something came up that we simply had to take care of.”

Which isn’t too far off from the truth.

He shuffles a bit closer, even though they’re already pressing up against each other, legs tangled together. “So, what does _sha’rë_ mean?”

“It means dear, darling, sweetheart. You.” Obi-Wan leans in and kisses the tip of Cody’s nose. It’s unexpectedly sweet, and Cody blinks in surprise. “Didn’t they teach you Mando’a?”

“Yes, but I don’t know any words for—we weren’t supposed to do things like this anyway, so why should we know?”

Obi-Wan’s forehead creases, and he fusses with Cody’s hair. “Then I’ll teach you all the soft and sweet words I know,” he promises, fingers catching the curve of Cody’s jaw.

“That’e very… are you sure? I got nothing to give you, and you could be with whoever you wanted, a prince, a queen, a... a duchess. There are five million people exactly like me.” With millions more in production.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to gather his thoughts, and then he says, gentle but firm, “They’re not you. I’m being rather selfish, actually, wanting you all for myself.”

He bumps his head against Obi-Wan’s chest and hums under his breath. “And I’m selfish for wanting _you_.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to be selfish, then.”

The Force hums around them, golden as the sun. Obi-Wan’s light playfulness ripples over his skin, and his love is a current that moves the ocean depths in endless circles.

Contentment washes over Cody, every bit of tension coming untangled. His eyelids start to droop, and Obi-Wan pets his hair in a gentle, repeating motion.

Is this what life will be like after the war, when everything goes back to normal, whatever that is? Cody has absolutely no idea what a galaxy at peace might be like, but he thinks he has an idea of it now. His eyes flicker open, and he‘s met with a smile and the brush of lips across the back of his hand. By the Light and Dark, no wonder everyone’s so eager for peace.

He’s moments from falling asleep when Obi-Wan sits up abruptly, hands falling away, and Cody grumbles in disappointment. “Someone’s coming.”

Cody is immediately awake, catching the pieces of his armor as Obi-Wan tosses them over. Back on Kamino, clones who weren’t entirely devoted to the Republic would get reeducated, and more often than not, recycled. “I’ll say I was cleaning it.”

“Right. Why am I here, though? Helping you clean?” Obi-Wan fusses with his robes, trying in vain to make them lay flat again.

“Maybe you were—just stand in the corner with this datapad, looking serious. Don’t think anyone’ll question it.” Cody picks up a pad that had fallen to the floor and tosses it over.

They slide into their positions just as the door opens.

Obi-Wan is staring at an obviously blank datapad, Cody’s left vambrace still tucked under one arm. Cody is about halfway into his armor and looking anywhere but at the door.

“Oh, I didn’t realize this room was in use. Sorry, General, Commander,” Gregor says, his voice neutral. Too neutral.

“Don’t worry about it, Gregor, we were just leaving.” Obi-Wan sweeps out of the room, perfectly composed. Except, unfortunately, for his hair, which isn’t smoothed down in the back.

Cody puts on his helmet before his face can betray him. This isn’t good. Gregor is a terrible gossip on the best of days. Then Vess will drag him aside to give him The Talk, which is, conservatively, a fate worse than death.

“I thought you would be in the next room over, meeting with the fleet admirals. Vhekad was looking for you.”

Obi-Wan remains impressively calm as he lies, “A more pressing issue came up. Required our immediate attention. It’s resolved now, though.”

“Oh, okay.” Gregor looks them both up and down again. “Okay.” The wheels in his mind start spinning faster and faster.

Cody’s heart leaps up a few inches in his chest to strangle him.

Gregor nods to himself as he backs out of the conference room. “Well, it was nice to see you both. I’m going to get lunch. Bye!” Then he vanishes, clearly headed anywhere but the mess hall.

Cody’s entire body is full of angry bees. “There goes any secrecy we might have had.” He does trust Gregor to not be careless with this information, but at the same time, it’s bound to get out at some point.

“You sound worried. Is it so bad if everyone knows?” Obi-Wan asks, and his hands disappear into the folds of his cloak.

“It’s the same for you, isn’t it?” Cody puts on the last few pieces of his armor, and their weight reassures him a bit. “If you’re not completely devoted to the Jedi and the Republic, they… might decommission you.” That’s the polite way of saying it, at least.

Obi-Wan’s face goes through a parade of emotions, from shock to confusion to horror and right back around to shock again. “That won’t happen to you, I promise. There’s some benefit to being the general of this entire sector army,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood a bit. The Force glows as he speaks, certain and strong. “We take care of each other, if you haven’t noticed.”

“When you put it that way.” Cody lets himself lean in closer to Obi-Wan, and the Force shimmers around them in ribbons of woven light.

“It was only ever a secret from Anakin how much I love you, anyway.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Yes.” He looks smug, and mischevious, and more relaxed than Cody remembers him ever being.

As they leave the room, he risks bumping his hand against Obi-Wan’s. “Next time, I’m taking off _your_ armor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Although, we are currently in the process of missing a meeting.”

“We should do the responsible thing and attend.”

“Naturally. Can’t afford to miss this one. Er, the rest of this one.”

“Everyone will know,” Cody says as they walk.

Obi-Wan waves a hand in the air. “Kit Fisto has three wives, four husbands, and one nonbinary spouse. It’s more than okay, and if it’s not, it will be.”

“Frankly, I’m more concerned about the gossip.”

“Yes, Gregor is terrible when it comes to that. But life is short, and I love you.”

“Oh.” He has a way of saying exactly what Cody wants to hear. For a second, they’re two ordinary people, walking through the hallways together.

“Hold my hand?”

Cody slips his hand into Obi-Wan’s and has to stare at the ground because it’s too much, they’re too close—

Obi-Wan gives his hand a squeeze as if to say, _everything okay?_

Cody squeezes back twice. It’s better than okay. Gods. It feels like hope, and promises, and the future. It’s golden, like daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m @arwcn on Tumblr for all your Codywan fluff needs!


	3. The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Ben Solo can do it, so can Obi-Wan Kenobi, the ORIGINAL Ben

The ship shudders, sparks flying inside the bridge as the shields struggle to maintain integrity. Sheets of plating a foot thick start to creak and buckle under enemy fire.

“Not good,” Waxer reports from his station, “A few more hits, and this entire ship is coming apart.”

“ _Anakin_.” Years of aggravation turn the word into a weapon.

“Sorry, sorry, we’re nearly there,” Anakin apologizes, his hologram flickering. “Just a few—min—” He vanishes in a burst of static as the ship shakes again.

The diagnostics panel in front of Cody puts up a warning flag, then another, and then a flurry of them appear, alarms ringing and overlapping into senseless noise. “Shields are down, venting drive plasma and atmosphere, critical engine failure,” he reports. His stomach twists—even just one of those is a disaster on a good day.

“We have to abandon the—” Obi-Wan cuts off mid-sentence, staring out the viewport.

Now their shields are down, the Separatist ships are concentrating their fire on the _Negotiator_. They’re about to get turned to scrap metal.

Cody’s eyes meet Obi-Wan’s across the bridge.

Then Obi-Wan closes his eyes, turning away, one hand stretched out towards the oncoming fire. The Force ripples out from his palm, a barely visible distortion in the air, almost like the ship’s shields. Everything hangs still for a moment, then the lead bolts ping away into empty space like they’ve hit an invisible wall. Obi-Wan is pushed back almost a foot, boots scraping against the floor, but he sets his jaw and braces for the next wave. A handful scrape over the hull and leave deep gouges in the metal that glow molten-hot, and the ship shudders like it's about to rip apart.

“Abandon ship!” Obi-Wan orders. His hands are shaking from the effort as he turns away more incoming fire.

Cody runs towards him and grabs his shoulders to keep him from falling, their armor clattering together. Obi-Wan leans heavily against him, skin pale and sweaty, eyes still determined even though there's no way he can stop everything.

A single bolt grazes the ship at just the wrong angle and sends both of them flying. Something in Cody’s arm snaps as he lands, and he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Another bolt hits them from the side, and he lets out a cry of pain as his arm twists to the side.

He struggles to sit up and finds even more fire coming directly towards them.

Obi-Wan holds on to Cody’s good arm and reaches out with his free hand. The Force pulls at them like a riptide, and Cody uses whatever embers of it he has to help Obi-Wan push against the tide. It’s not a feeling he recognizes, but somehow it’s more familiar than anything he’s ever known. Something deep inside him shifts, and for a brief second, he can feel the heat of the incoming laser bolts, the brothers around him watching in shock and fear, Obi-Wan’s golden warmth and iron will, all as stars floating in a dark river.

He opens his eyes, and the bolts are hovering inches in front of the transparisteel, the plasma seething and rippling even in the cold of space. Then they fly at right angles away from the ship and vanish into space, but there are still more coming—it wasn't enough.

Skin ashen, Obi-Wan slumps against Cody, breathing ragged, one hand still stretched towards the continuing onslaught. Cody presses against him and steadies Obi-Wan’s hand with his.

There are worse ways to die.

A Republic warship exits hyperspace directly in front of them just as Obi-Wan collapses completely, and the bolts disperse harmlessly over the new ship’s shields.

“I think you’ll agree I wasn’t a second too late.” Anakin’s hologram flickers, barely recognizable. “Obi-Wan?”

Cody holds Obi-Wan tight against him, not willing to let go, because if he can’t hear Obi-Wan breathing, he really will lose it.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin echoes.

—

Cody is mostly asleep when he hears something rustling in Obi-Wan’s room. He stands up instinctively, reaching for a weapon, and he hisses as he jostles his broken arm.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan asks, voice rough. “Cody!”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here. What’s wrong?” He sits on the edge of Obi-Wan’s bed.

Obi-Wan blinks tiredly, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s fine now.”

“Okay.” Cody leans in and kisses his cheek. “You should go back to sleep.”

He nods, sleepy eyes fixed on Cody. “Yeah _._ ” Although he doesn’t even make an effort, just sits there and watches Cody like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

“Go back to sleep, or Vess will literally try to murder us.” Cody pulls the blankets up around him. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head and rubs tiredly at one eye. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Alright.” After checking to make sure Obi-Wan is comfortable, Cody stands up again.

“Vess will yell at you if he finds out you were sleeping in that chair,” Obi-Wan says, not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is. “And I am not going to sleep until you go to sleep. Please come here?” The Force flutters around him ever so slightly, a faint warmth that flickers across Cody’s tongue like honey, and it tugs at his clothes.

Cody can’t say no to those eyes. He carefully climbs onto the bed, which is not sized for two adult men. They’re practically on top of each other. “You shouldn’t do that,” he whispers. “You already have Force exhaustion, please don’t make it worse.”

Obi-Wan tries to put a finger on Cody’s lips, but he misses spectacularly and ends up poking the bridge of Cody’s nose.

“Okay, you really need to rest.” He grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and keeps it still.

“I’m trying, aren’t I?” Obi-Wan grumbles. “You’re the one making it bloody difficult.” Then he tucks his face against Cody’s chest and does a great job of either pretending to be or genuinely falling asleep.

Cody rests his good hand on Obi-Wan’s head and listens to him slowly breathe.

Something is clicking. An alarm? Is he late? Cody flails out instinctively to turn the alarm off and accidentally jostles the person laying on top of him.

Wait, what?

Someone warm and heavy has snuggled on top of him, still asleep.

“They look so relaxed,” a voice sighs. “I think it’s cute.”

“Shaddup, Wooley, you’re gonna wake ‘em up, and I’m not done getting blackmail.”

Cody’s eyes fly open just in time for Waxer to snap another picture, and he says icily, “Lieutenant, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Aw, kriff. Everyone out, mission aborted! Gogogo!” Waxer yells, simultaneously pushing Wooley out the door and dragging Boil out by the back of his blacks.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan tucks his face against Cody’s side, mussing his hair even more. “Good morning. What’s happening?”

He smiles and runs his hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, putting the auburn strands back in order. “Some troopers, who will shortly be reassigned to the smallest satellite on the edge of Wild Space, were taking photos of us.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so terrible.” He looks at Cody with fond, sleepy eyes; trust him to enjoy the mornings. His beard is slightly smushed on one side, which is deeply, deeply charming.

Oh kriff, Cody’s really in it now, isn’t he? The thought spreads warmth through his stomach, and he chews on the inside of his lip to stop himself from smiling like a complete _di’kut_. He stretches, and his back cracks pleasantly, and most importantly, it doesn’t hurt like hell. “Hey, my arm isn’t broken?”

“That’s nice.” Obi-Wan’s eyes start to droop closed again. “M’still rather tired.”

Cody squishes Obi-Wan’s face between both hands. “No, you have to help me hunt down Waxer and Boil. They’re corrupting Wooley by teaching him how to blackmail.”

Obi-Wan pats Cody’s hand reassuringly, says, “That’s nice, dear,” and starts to snore moments later.

Cody shakes his head. The arm brace is jabbing him in about five different spots and unbearably itchy. He knows it should hurt, but it doesn’t, which makes the brace even more annoying. It’s got to come off. He tries unsuccessfully to remove it without moving Obi-Wan, then gives in and scoots out from under him, slipping a pillow into the empty space in his arms. The Jedi frowns in his sleep and squishes the pillow a bit sadly.

Now freed, Cody takes the horribly uncomfortable brace off with relish. He wiggles his fingers, stretching out his wrist and hand. They’re a bit stiff, but otherwise in good working order, and even the scar from the surgery has completely faded. He frowns down at Obi-Wan. “What did you do?”

“CC-2224!” a voice thunders. “ _Just what do you think you’re doing?_ ”

“Vess!” Cody yelps, and his finely-honed battlefield instincts evaporate on the spot, leaving him frozen like a cadet caught outside without authorization. “Hey, he’s only just got back to sleep! You wouldn’t wake him, would you?”

That makes the medic pause for a moment. “Fine. But you’re still in trouble,” Vess whispers angrily, advancing on Cody. “What are you doing to your arm? Why aren’t you _resting_?”

Everything in Cody’s head is screaming for him to retreat, but there’s nowhere he can go that Vess won’t follow. “You’re not going to believe me, but it’s fine.”

The number of times he’s said that flash before Vess’ eyes, and honestly, what had he expected? He lets Vess examine his formerly broken arm, poking at the incision site and testing his flexibility, until the medic is completely satisfied.

“Huh. That’s a first for me, unless…” Vess’ gaze pans over to Obi-Wan, peacefully asleep, wrapped around his pillow like an octopus struggling to open a jam jar. “Ah. I’m fairly certain the General used the Force to heal you, even though that’s not his area of specialty. So he’s even more exhausted than before.” This earns Cody a stern glare, although it’s not really anyone’s fault.

“That didn’t hurt him at all, did it? I had no idea he was doing that, if I’d known…”

Vess gives Cody’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Just needs to sleep it off and not accidentally heal anyone else’s injuries. We’d know if it were serious. What am I going to _do_ with the both of you?”

“Nothing, I hope.” Cody’s wrist comm buzzes, the flashing lights letting him know that he also has several unread voicemails, and he answers while seeing a whole stack of paperwork loom in his future. “This is Commander Cody.”

“Hi Commander, it’s me, Frisbie! Uh, CT-64-6644. Right. You’re needed on the bridge at your earliest convenience. I mean, immediately. Thank you?” Frisbie is one of the newer members of the 212th, and it shows.

Cody shoots a look at Vess, who sighs and concedes, “In a shocking turn of events, I have no reason to hold you. You’re free to go.”

That’s the easiest escape he’s ever made from the medbay, and the first he’s made without any yelling. “Thanks, Vess.” Cody gives Obi-Wan a quick kiss on the forehead and moves to leave.

The only indication that something is wrong is Obi-Wan’s _hmmph_ of displeasure. Then something grabs Cody by the collar of his blacks and yanks backwards. “Hey!”

Vess doesn’t bother to help and in fact makes the situation worse by snickering.

“Don’t laugh, _shabuir_ ,” Cody hisses. He is unceremoniously dragged towards the bed, trips over a contemptuously discarded pillow, and ends up flat on his back. A hand reaches over the edge, and Cody floats up onto the bed. “Obi-Wan, please stop using the Force, I’ll be right back after I take care of this—”

Obi-Wan hooks one arm around Cody’s waist and hums in satisfaction.

“Okay, you’re very sweet, but now's not the time,” he murmurs, even though the frustration evaporates when Obi-Wan nuzzles Cody’s chest sleepily; he smells like vanilla cookies and jasmine green tea.

Vess grins. “Wow, I always knew you were a handful, Cody, but it looks like you’re an armful, too.”

“Vesper, you have no right to accuse me of telling dad jokes and then turn around and say that to my face.”

“That’s your opinion. Well, as far as I can tell, he’s not going to get any rest unless you’re with him, so… consider my standing orders to be for cuddles, Marshal Commander, and lots of ‘em.”

“I hate you.” He can’t stop himself from smiling and tries to hide his face unsuccessfully in Obi-Wan’s hair.

Vess shakes his head. “I’ll let Frisbie know you’re not coming. I may or may not let slip exactly why, though.”

Cody silently flips him off.

“That’s mature. Oh, double birds, very mature. Fine, then enjoy naptime.” Vess waves a cheeky goodbye.

Grumpily, Cody snuggles a bit closer to Obi-Wan and closes his eyes. There’s something comforting and safe about the warm weight on top of him, and it’s easy to drift back to sleep.

—

Cody runs his hand through Obi-Wan’s soft, glossy hair, and the very dangerous Jedi Knight closes his eyes and presses against Cody happily. It’s not often they find the time to cuddle like this, and even though Cody’s armor can’t be comfortable to lay on—he really should consider requisitioning _kama_ —all the tension leaves Obi-Wan’s body, and he is perfectly content. And how often is Cody’s general content?

The sun turns the riverlands below to gold as it sets, and its rays do the same to Obi-Wan’s peaceful face. Cody can’t help but sneak a kiss to his forehead, and then another, and another on his cheek. Right now, seeing Obi-Wan truly enjoying the moment, is a rare gift, getting rarer as the war progresses.

“What are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan murmurs, eyes still closed. He’s holding Cody’s free hand between both of his.

“Nothing,” Cody lies.

“You know, I can feel your presence in the Force, and I can tell you’re turning something over in your thoughts, so it's really rather useless to pretend otherwise.”

“I was just thinking,” Cody admits, “that I like who you are when we’re together.”

“And how am I different from baseline?”

“Less guarded. And you let me do this.” Cody leans down and presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s cheek, which earns him a small smile.

“Hm, I do let you do that.” 

“I got something for you,” he ventures after a moment. “If you want it.”

Obi-Wan opens his eyes and sits up, still holding onto Cody’s hand. His head tilts to the side curiously.

“Look, I know they’re not beskar, but I was thinking...” Cody holds out his own vambraces, repainted to look extra nice. “It’s not even a special occasion, I just wanted you to—” he sighs. He should’ve rehearsed this or something. “Here.”

“Do you really mean it?” Obi-Wan asks. He takes the vambraces near-reverentially, like they’re worth far more than their materials.

“Of course I do.” Cody can’t stop himself from smiling as Obi-Wan replaces his arm guards with Cody’s. The gold and white complements the copper, and Cody selfishly likes the way the angular patterns on his armor merge with the organic swirls of white paint on Obi-Wan’s.

“Thank you, _cyare_ , they’re beautiful.” Obi-Wan looks down at his hands, and Cody knows he’s smiling. “I think it’s only right and fair that you take mine. Can’t have your arms unprotected, can we?”

Obi-Wan’s copper beskar shines in the late evening light, the paint turning peach and gold in the sun.

Cody’s about to refuse. Beskar was never meant for people like him, he _can’t_ , who gave him the right? But then he looks into Obi-Wan’s eyes, blue as forever, and he knows exactly who’s given him the right. Cody kisses the side of Obi-Wan’s face as he takes the armor.

“Hey, Obi-Wan—holy crap.” General Skywalker is frozen in place, datapad in hand, formerly about to ask Obi-Wan some question about tactics or supplies.

“Anakin? Did you want something?”

“Uh...”

Cody slides the new vambraces on. They’re still warm from Obi-Wan’s hands, heavier than plastoid, and the only marks are on the paint, not the metal.

General Skywalker shakes his head. “I was going to say we’re getting a transmission from Kamino. Alpha-17’s concerned about a potential second attack on the planet.” He holds out a holoprojector.

Obi-Wan nods in understanding. “That sounds important, we should take the call now. Cody?”

Disappointment washes over Cody as Obi-Wan slides out of his arms and sits a bit further away, straightening his armor. It’s not that he doesn’t miss Alpha—back on Kamino, there were two series of clones produced before the standard troopers, the Nulls and Alphas. Prime had invested a lot of time into training them. While the Nulls had shunned the other clones as inferior, watered-down, the Alphas had seen fit to watch over their younger clones, and Alpha himself had trained Cody several years ago.

But at the same time… Alpha is _interrupting_.

General Skywalker sits across from them in the grass and pulls up the hologram, not quite looking at either of them.

Alpha’s scarred face appears, blue in the holographic light. “Generals, nice to see you again. Cody’ka, hope you’ve been staying out of trouble.”

Cody grumbles a bit. “I keep everyone _else_ out of trouble.” _And get no credit for it_.

Alpha lets out a short laugh. “We should talk about… the… Cody, is that new armor? I don’t recognize the pattern.” Alpha’s gaze sharpens on the new vambraces, the smile fading a bit.

“It’s very new.” Cody holds up one arm so Alpha can see the painted beskar.

Alpha scrutinizes the pattern for a moment, mentally comparing it to the geometric shapes of Cody’s own paint, then stares Obi-Wan down like a jaig hawk. “You married my baby brother?!” he demands.

“What?” Cody squawks at the same time Obi-Wan yelps, “Pardon me?”

General Skywalker stares in bewildered silence, eyes wide as saucers.

Alpha runs a hand over his buzzed-short hair. “I mean, I knew it was getting serious between you, I just had no karking idea _how_ serious. I mean, congratulations, Cody! Obi-Wan, hurt my _vod’ika_ and I will hunt you across the stars. Cody, I’m so happy for you!”

“Ah... when I... I didn’t know _that_ was what it meant,” Cody whispers to Obi-Wan, praying no one can hear. “Did you—?”

“No!” Obi-Wan whispers back. “I lived on Mandalore, but not long enough to see a wedding! Those were very private, by invitation only! I should have done more research.”

Cody chews on his lip. “Are you saying... do you want to swap back?”

“No! Unless you wanted to swap back,” Obi-Wan adds hesitantly.

“No, I don’t want that.” Cody feels a goofy smile on his face, matched by the one on Obi-Wan’s. “I’m rather happy about it, actually.”

“That’s good.” Obi-Wan blinks, golden eyelashes catching the light, blue eyes cool and calm as frost.

They lean in without thinking, only to be interrupted by a loud cough from General Skywalker. Then they spring apart like there’s a live grenade underneath them.

Cody will never be able to look Alpha in the eyes again.

“Ahem. Well. Thank you, Alpha. If you could give us what intel you have, we’d be happy to take a look at it,” Obi-Wan says, his Coruscanti accent sharper and stiffer than usual.

“Staying out of trouble, my ass,” Alpha says, shaking his head. “All three of you are magnets for it.”

Anakin huffs and crosses his arms. “Hey, don’t drag me into this, I think I’ve—”

“Skywalker, don’t think I haven’t heard about all your stupid decisions. You threw Rex off a cliff.”

General Skywalker sputters, “It wasn’t that big of a cliff!” Which is honestly not a great defense.

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-Wan sighs. He looks over at Cody with a ‘get a load of this guy’ look.

“Snips and I caught him!” General Skywalker protests, practically whining. “He never even _touched_ the ground.”

Cody laughs out loud, and everyone looks at him in surprise. “What? I laugh.”

“When drunk, maybe,” Alpha comments.

General Skywalker nods. “I’ve been around you for three years, and in all that time, I never heard you laugh once.”

“Well, marriage has really changed me,” Cody says solemnly. He manages to make it five whole seconds before cracking up again.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, then huffs, then laughs, leaning against Cody as he practically wheezes with laughter.

Alpha and General Skywalker share a moment of intense confusion.

“Why are both of them like this?” Alpha asks the sky in general, sending Obi-Wan and Cody into another round of giggles.

“S’not even that funny,” General Skywalker mutters under his breath.

Cody leans against Obi-Wan, the Force singing around them in two-part harmony.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re not married,” Obi-Wan says, looking pointedly at General Skywalker, one arm slung carelessly around Cody’s shoulders.

“Haha, yeah, obviously. Why would you think I was married? That’s ridiculous.” Skywalker ruffles his hair.

Rex joins them, sitting down in the grass so close to Skywalker that he might as well have just crawled into his lap. “Sorry to interrupt, I was just wondering what all the noise was about. Did something happen?” One of his arms unsubtly wraps around Skywalker’s waist, and he slips his thumb into a loop on Skywalker’s belt.

Alpha groans, “Not you too, Rex’ika. I need to get back into the field, it’s obvious all of you can’t supervise yourselves.”

They do eventually circle back around to the intel, but the song of the Force still drifts through the air around them, golden in the light of dusk.

—

Chatroom #1583: all the COOL commanders!!! and bly

> croissant boy: fox  
> a single corn chip: cody  
> ryloth stan: bly  
> constant vigilance: wolffe  
> baby: rex  
> no i didnt fall into a pond please stop asking: ponds

a single corn chip: So can I add my husband to the chat or what  
baby: can you add your WHAT  
ryloth stan: YOU DIDNT INVITE ME TO THE WEDDING  
a single corn chip: Well it was kind of complicated  
ryloth stan: THIS DOES NOT EXCUSE YOU  
ryloth stan: add him i need to scream  
croissant boy: yeah more the merrier  
baby: i also have Words  
a single corn chip: This seems fine  
User 29664 has joined the channel!  
a single corn chip: Hi cyare!!  
constant vigilance: didnt read all your crap from before whats happening  
constant vigilance: whos cyare  
User 29664: Hello, this is Obi-Juan  
baby: OBI JUAN KENOBI  
ryloth stan: OBI JUAN!!!!!!!  
constant vigilance: oh kriff  
constant vigilance: obi j has ARRIVED  
User 29664: Cody bumped my arm.  
User 29664: It’s Obi-Wan.  
a single corn chip: Obi-Juan <3  
User 29664: The wedding’s off.  
 _baby changed User 29664’s nickname to obi-juan fett._  
a single corn chip: Nice  
baby: thank you  
obi-juan fett: None of you are valid. Canceled. Canceled. Cody, give me back my cloak this instant, you don't deserve it anymore.  
a single corn chip: Shan't  
a single corn chip: Oh no  
baby: hey not to be that guy but why did the negotiator just take a wild swing to the left  
no i didnt fall into a pond please stop asking: lol  
baby: no really  
baby: it almost hit the resolute  
baby: fives screamed and jumped into echo's arms and jesse flinched so hard he hit kix  
baby: he's still apologizing  
constant vigilance: pics or it didnt happen  
ryloth stan: pics pics pics  
baby: WE JUST GOT THIS SHIP I DONT WANT A NEW ONE  
baby: i just moved all my stuff in here  
baby: my greys  
baby: the rock that ahsoka gave me as a joke but it was the only present i’d ever gotten and i was so overwhelmed that i broke down and cried in her arms for an hour  
baby: and my favorite pillow  
no i didnt fall into a pond please stop asking: yikes  
croissant boy: rexika do you want to talk to someone  
baby: no  
ryloth stan: i do  
croissant boy: i know bly  
ryloth stan: i'm sad  
croissant boy: i know bly  
obi-juan fett: [got-him.jpg]  
ryloth stan: holy shit  
ryloth stan: f  
no i didnt fall into a pond please stop asking: f  
croissant boy: f  
constant vigilance: f  
 _baby changed obi-juan fett's name to General Obi-Wan Kenobi._  
 _baby changed a single corn chip's name to boy bye._  
ryloth stan: so  
ryloth stan: can i add aayla to the chat?  
 _Multiple people are typing..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed the updated chapter count! Things got away from me, and there will be a chapter four. Stay tuned :D


	4. The Halls of the Jedi Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan Kenobi meets someone, and it turns his world upside-down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the second scene in this chapter was actually the first one I wrote for the fic and was intended to be the first scene! I ended up cutting it and going with just Cody's perspective. But I couldn't resist writing a chapter about our best knight lad :D

“So, you excited to meet your clone captain?”

“I suppose,” Obi-Wan says mildly.

Anakin bounces on his heels, and the temple entrance hall echoes with the sound of his shoes tapping. “You _suppose_? Yeah, you would. What do you think they’ll be like?”

“Speculation is pointless. They’ll be like however they are.”

That just makes Anakin grumble to himself. “Hey, those look like LAATs!” He points at a handful of dark shapes flying overhead, annoyance forgotten. “I can’t wait to get under the hood of one of those things. Bet I can make it fly twice as fast with a bit of work.”

“I’m sure you could.”

“Can you stop saying platitudes for five seconds, please?” Anakin asks, voice verging on a whine. Although he’s lost the padawan braid and he’s officially twenty, to Obi-Wan, he’s still very much a teenager. “You’re so annoying, it’s like talking to Master Yoda.”

“I could stop, if I wished,” Obi-Wan says, just to get under his skin.

Anakin’s lower lip juts out, and he crosses his arms. “Fine. Let’s just stand here in silence, then.”

Obi-Wan tries to center himself in the Force, but his focus is continually knocked aside by the waves of sour annoyance coming from Anakin.

The majority of today’s arrivals have already come into the Temple and met their Jedi generals, except for the ones Obi-Wan and Anakin were supposed to meet. None of the other clones had known where they were. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if they can send out search parties for their own captains, although he’s considering it.

After a few minutes of waiting, Anakin is practically climbing the walls, and Obi-Wan has half a mind to tape him to a chair to stop him from fidgeting. “They’re _late_ , Obi-Wan.”

“We’re _late_ , Cody,” another voice says in the exact same tone of voice as Anakin.

“Don’t see why you’re complaining when you’re the one who couldn’t stop staring at that fountain shaped like a book,” the first voice says reasonably.

“In my defense, have you ever seen a fountain like that before? The water was the pages. They don’t have things like that on Kamino.”

Anakin mouths to Obi-Wan, _That’s what_ I _said about the book fountain!_

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes in a _Yes, but you spent half an hour staring at it_ way.

Anakin scowls in lieu of saying, _I’m from a karking desert planet, I have a right to stare!_

Two clones scale the slope that leads up to the temple entrance, wearing the same white armor. At first glance, they seem identical, but Obi-Wan’s eyes pick up on the difference in their gait and demeanor, and he can sense one more strongly than the other in the Force. The clone on the left has a faint presence, tinged with rain and sea-spray, while the other glows brighter, flavored with saffron and spices Obi-Wan remembers from his time on Mandalore.

“Sorry we’re late, sirs. We promise it won’t happen again,” the saffron clone says.

The rain clone grumbles a bit, but promises the same.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I presume that one of you is my captain. What are y—”

“Hi, I’m Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin interrupts, his presence roiling and bubbling with excitement.

“What are your names?” Obi-Wan asks again, with a meaningful look at Anakin.

The saffron clone stands a bit straighter. “CC-2224, captain of the 212th.”

“CT-7567, captain of the 501st,” the other says.

“I meant your names, not your designations,” he corrects as gently as he can.

The two clones exchange looks, then introduce themselves as Cody and Rex. They take off their helmets after a bit more prodding, and Obi-Wan is surprised to find one of them is blonde, and the other already has a scar encircling one eye and a dusting of early grey in his hair. Well, as with any living being, they could never be perfectly identical. He finds it oddly reassuring, somehow.

“So, Rex, you got any experience with those LAATs? I’ve been meaning to get a closer look.” Anakin can’t stop himself from grinning eagerly.

Surprise spatters across Rex’s Force presence like rain on a window. “Really? I mean, I’d be happy to show you one, sir.”

“Sounds good. Also, we can go check out that fountain, I know exactly the one you’re talking about. I’m from a desert planet, they don’t have any fountains at all…” Anakin’s words trail into the distance as he walks away from the temple, one arm already slung around Rex’s shoulders.

Cody and Obi-Wan both look at the duo, then each other, and then they sigh.

“If we can’t find them by dinner, at least we’ll know where to look,” Obi-Wan says.

Cody makes a tiny huff, his version of laughter. Obi-Wan wonders what it'll take to get him to laugh out loud. “Of course, sir.”

“Why don’t you come inside? I’m sure they’ll be awhile.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody glances at the temple, the very top of which fades into the clouds above. “Nice building,” he says, then looks at Obi-Wan warily.

Oh. Obi-Wan smiles in a way he hopes is comforting, although trying to be comforting rarely works. “Yes, and the tea’s excellent, if that’s your preferred drink. Do you like tea?”

A hint of spiced saffron drifts through the air, and even though Cody’s military-perfect posture doesn’t relax, he says quietly, “I’ve never had it before, so I don’t really know.”

“Then you, my friend, have arrived at the perfect place. Shall we?” Obi-Wan turns around, expecting the captain to be right behind him. Instead, he finds Cody rocking back and forth on his toes, caught between following orders and protocol. “Commander?” he asks, holding out one hand. 

Cody looks up at him with brown eyes turned amber by the setting sun. Obi-Wan has to wonder what kind of life he’s led up to this point that would make him so distrusting. After a few moments, Cody walks forward, intending to take up a position behind Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“Everyone complains about tea being hot leaf water, but truly, what is caf but hot bean water?” Obi-Wan jokes, knowing exactly how lame it sounds. He links his arm with Cody’s instead, and he feels the captain stiffen in surprise. “Let’s go inside, and you can decide for yourself.”

He hopes they can be friends, at least.

—

Before he leaves the atmosphere of Mandalore, Obi-Wan hears an impossible knock on the side of his ship. If someone was trying to kill him, they wouldn’t knock, would they?

He activates the ship autopilot and lowers the landing ramp, standing at the ready with his saber in hand, as one can never be too careful.

“Hey, Jedi.” A blue-armored figure lands on the ramp in front of him and takes off their blue helmet, revealing red hair and a face that could be familiar. “Care to invite me inside? We need to talk.”

More infamous words have rarely been spoken.

“It’s actually rather convenient that you dropped by.” Obi-Wan picks up a pile of discarded Mandalorian armor; he’d not had the chance to return it before making his escape. “This belongs with you and your people.” He tries to hand her the armor, but she shakes her head.

“This is exactly what I—” Bo-Katan looks down at the pile, arranging her words carefully. “You know what our armor means to us, don’t you?” she asks.

He nods and says, “The beskar is passed down in the clans, painted and reshaped to suit individuals’ needs. One set of armor may have protected generations of a clan.”

He’s pretty sure her smirk is because of his bland textbook definition. “Yes, that’s the basic sentiment. And you—well, now you legally own this. Stole it fair and square.”

“There’s nothing fair about _stealing_ —”

Bo-Katan shoots Obi-Wan a look that makes his mouth snap shut. She really is Satine’s sister. “Look, I just—she wouldn’t want you to keep it, but I do. I know, you have the Force, and she never approved of the Jedi’s war with the Separatists, but she’d want to make sure you were safe, too.”

“I really can’t accept this. I’m not Mandalorian, and besides, Jedi don’t wear armor.”

“Yeah, well, _I_ can’t run around protecting you from all the stupid things you’re involved in. I’ve got my own problems. This is the best I can do for you, and I’ll make sure it’s done,” she says stubbornly.

“Bo-Katan—”

She slaps him on the shoulder in a way she probably thinks is gentle, but just makes him stumble. “You should know by now that arguing with a Kryze once they’ve made up their mind is pointless, Jedi. Even for you.”

He shakes his head even as she lowers the landing ramp to leave. “At this point, you should just call me Obi-Wan.”

Bo-Katan huffs, firing up her jetpack again, but she’s smiling. “Don’t die. Otherwise, I’ll have to kill you, and I really don’t have the time.”

—

Obi-Wan’s hand reaches out for his plastoid vambraces, emblazoned with the emblem of the GAR, but stops inches away.

They’re scraped and scuffed from so much use, but he remembers when they’d been shiny and new. Freshly made at his request. Back then, they’d all thought the war would be over quickly, that it wouldn’t last. No one had assumed that the Jedi would stay generals forever.

But the war dragged on and on, and they’re slowly but surely turning into a military institution, their padawans being trained like they’re cadets at some Republic army academy.

Anakin had taken well to his new role, and to the armor that came with it. He almost seemed to prefer this life to the one Obi-Wan had grown up expecting to live; what would Anakin even do when the war was over? What purposes might he turn his talents towards?

Most likely some sort of mayhem.

Either way, war suits him.

It’s been months now, and Obi-Wan still feels like he’s wearing a costume. He wasn’t meant for this. And the stolen beskar is still sitting in his closet, untouched and unworn. Every time he catches a glimpse of it, he remembers that day on Mandalore, now months past. Cody thinks the weight of his armor is comforting, and why wouldn’t he? It’s one of the few things that really belongs to him.

But none of this armor belongs to Obi-Wan.

He leaves all of it in his quarters. This small act isn’t going to stop him from changing into someone else—won’t stop the Jedi order from changing into something else—but it reminds him of the way things were, before all of this.

He does regret this decision a few hours later, sitting in the medbay under Vess’ strict orders to stay still or get smacked.

It wasn’t “reckless endangerment” like Cody had accused—Obi-Wan isn’t _reckless_. He takes calculated risks for the safety of his troops, which is what any good commander would do. To be fair, while he takes said calculated risks, he is often shot at or blown up, but that’s part of his job now.

When he points this out to Cody, however, it’s not taken well. The steady golden glow of Cody’s Force presence turns sour as a lemon, and he crosses his arms. “Please don’t try to tell me that when you look this terrible.”

“It was an acceptable risk. I know you would have taken it,” Obi-Wan points out, feeling a bit like Anakin as he says so.

Cody tilts his head in agreement, but adds, “I have armor.”

“I have…” Obi-Wan looks down at his torn, melted robes. “Fabric.”

Cody raises both eyebrows, so cynical that Obi-Wan can taste the tart fizz on his tongue. 

“I know,” he mutters under his breath. “And I’m sorry about your armor, I didn’t mean for it to get destroyed in the process.”

“I can always get new armor, but I can’t get a new general, and you can’t get new internal organs.”

“Not unless I try very hard,” Obi-Wan tries to joke, hoping Cody might smile.

Cody remains unamused. “Please don’t say that.”

Vess pokes his head into the room and announces, “Visiting hours are over. Cody, don’t make me get the broom.”

“Alright. Get some rest, General,” Cody sighs. He looks at Obi-Wan in a way that might be gentle or might just be exasperated, and his Force presence shimmers at the edges.

Obi-Wan promises to rest, although it proves harder than he’d like. There are thousands of people aboard the ship, their thoughts fizzing at the edges of his own. During the course of the war, he’d grown used to the background noise, but he’d also grown used to having Cody next to him.

There’s one thing he can always count on, one point of calm in the churning oceans of the Force—saffron and Mandalorian spices, cutting through the muddy flavors of the Force-nulls around him. It’s an anchor, a warm hearth, a lighthouse, a harbor, all manner of metaphors. Anakin is always unstable, his emotions a metallic tang in the air. Ahsoka is the same in a lot of ways, shifting between flavors so fast it almost makes Obi-Wan sick. Although, to be fair, that’s just what kids are like.

 _I’ll only do it one time_ , Obi-Wan promises to himself as he reaches out for Cody’s familiar presence. Cody reaches back, and the threads of their nascent bond strengthen a little bit more. He wishes he could see if it made Cody smile.

After a few minutes, Obi-Wan drifts off to sleep, tasting saffron on his tongue.

—

“I see you and Commander Cody have made a connection,” Plo comments from his council seat. No one else has arrived yet, and Obi-Wan’s regretting being so punctual. 

“Er… thank you,” he says, pausing a bit too long to come off as entirely natural. “Of course we’ve connected. He’s the commander of the 7th Sky Corps, and he’s very skilled at his job.”

Plo isn’t visibly smiling, but by the way his mask moves, Obi-Wan knows he is. “I’m sure the commander is talented. They did invent an entire rank for him, paving the way for other high-ranked clone officers, including my own commander. But that is not what I meant.”

“We’ve become friends,” Obi-Wan admits.

Plo tilts his head a bit to the side and gives Obi-Wan a Look through his goggles.

“I respect him,” Obi-Wan deflects.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, little one. You’ve hidden your Force bond well, but I can still see the threads that bind you.”

Ah, _kriff_. “Saffron and Mandalorian spices,” Obi-Wan mumbles in defeat. “I take it that I was fairly obvious, then?”

Plo is definitely smiling. “I see golden ribbons stretching between you, and whenever I mention his name, they curl closer around you.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan winces. All Jedi have a sense of the Force, but it’s usually abstract, more of a feeling than anything. Plo is one of the few knights who can actually see it, making it difficult to hide anything from him. “Yes, well.”

“I’m glad to see it, truthfully. I have—” Plo cuts off mid-sentence as Mace and Kit join them in the council chamber.

Obi-Wan’s always been fond of Kit, and not just because his Force presence is like minty chocolate chips. Well… it might have been because of the chocolate chips.

“I hear everyone’s actually going to be here today, in person. That hasn’t happened since the war began!” Kit grins, showing off far too many sharp, white teeth.

Although the members of the Council have different flavors, they balance each other out; Everyone can feel the hum of resonance between them, but only Obi-Wan gets the impression of peaches and cream, sweet and cool. The Temple’s presence used to be the same, although in the years since the war began, it’s turned sour and strange. But for now, in the Council chamber, it feels like the Temple he grew up in once again.

He looks over at Plo and knows he’s seeing the visual equivalent. Plo has often described the Force as a tapestry, with each being a different thread in the weave. As more knights have fallen over the course of the war, the tapestry has begun to break apart, fraying away under the strain.

Obi-Wan holds on a bit tighter to the peaches-and-cream flavor, cataloguing it so he can remember it more accurately later. In case he forgets. 

He leaves the council chamber feeling a bit better than he had before.

Just as he begins to walk away, he sees Plo and Wolffe discussing something over a datapad with the rest of the Wolfpack.

Obi-Wan tastes cinnamon and caramel, so sweet it almost hurts. “Plo!” he gasps in shock and moral outrage.

“Is something the matter, Obi-Wan?” Plo asks, looking up from the datapad.

“I can’t believe you tried to pull _that_ —” he jerks an elbow towards the council chamber “—with me when you and Wolffe are like this!”

“Ah,” Plo says, glancing down at Wolffe.

Wolffe looks up at him, and although he doesn’t seem confused, the sweet-apple-candy of his aura turns a bit sour.

“Apologies for any deception, that was not my intent. I’d assumed you already knew, given that I’ve made no effort in keeping it a secret. I’ve adopted them.” Plo gestures to the rest of the pack milling about the hallway, conservatively fifteen people. Obi-Wan recognizes Comet and Sinker among them. When he reaches out, he gets the same impression of caramel-flavored familial love connecting them.

As if they can sense what’s happening, the Wolfpack forms up around Plo protectively, with Wolffe standing by Plo’s right side.

“That makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it.” Obi-Wan gets the tiniest hint of peaches and can’t help but smile. “So you don’t… you don’t find it objectionable?”

“I hardly could. And you’ll find the Council doesn’t mind, either. You know of Kit’s many, many spouses.”

Obi-Wan catches himself starting to smile. “I’d heard about them.”

“If you make each other happy… well, the galaxy could stand to benefit from a little more happiness.”

—

He needs to be chaperoned around Cody. He’d gotten far too into the flirting, the back-and-forth, and then he’d gone and tried to _hold Cody’s hand_. Like he had any right to hold someone’s hand.

And the armor, why had he promised that? He’d said he would work on it, but at the same time, they’re launching a ground invasion the very next day. He should wear the armor tomorrow. Maybe it would even make Cody happy?

He slides to the ground next to Cody’s door, back pressing against the wall, lightsaber clutched against his chest.

The kyber crystal in his hands is singing, its familiar honey-and-cardamom flavor tinged with saffron at the edges from being kept close to Cody.

Obi-Wan drags himself to his feet and schleps off to his quarters. He tries not to read people’s emotions too much, preferring to respect others’ personal space. Unfortunately, like most of his brothers, Cody keeps his softer emotions locked away in a dark vault that will never see the light of day. As a result, Obi-Wan couldn’t have less of an idea if he’s made a mistake or not.

If only he could go back, stop himself from going too far. He’s being pushed forward too fast, forced to make decisions he’d rather leave for another time.

His room is cold and empty, left undecorated except for a small potted succulent. It’s always looked this impersonal; he isn’t encouraged to have many material possessions, and there isn’t much he’d want, anyway.

The door to the closet is slightly ajar, and when he moves to close it, he catches a glimpse of the black-and-red armor sitting in its backpack.

Cody and Bo-Katan’s words keep circling in his head, echoes of each other.

Someone caring about his safety is so at odds with the life he’s lived—he’s expected to sacrifice his life for the good of the many. No one is attached to him, and he is attached to no one. He isn’t supposed to dwell on the past or future, only accept the present as it is.

The present, however, is tumultuous at best, and he can’t stop thinking about what Cody had said. It would be easier for everyone involved if he could let go of it.

Obi-Wan’s grip tightens on the saber, then he sets it aside. He reaches into the closet and pulls out the armor, lining the pieces up in the same pattern he’s seen Cody use for his armor. The metal itself is old, and as Obi-Wan handles it, he tastes the faint tang of blaster fire on the back of his tongue. It reminds him painfully of Mandalore, of Satine, as always. The black-and-red color scheme doesn’t help, either.

He still has feelings for her, but they’ve cooled with time, and now that she’s gone… They’d held candles for each other mostly out of habit, neither of them finding anyone else in the meantime.

His stomach flutters as he remembers Cody’s earnest expression, saying he wanted Obi-Wan to stay safe. That had been real.

Obi-Wan picks up one of the vambraces, the beskar humming under his touch. This armor will keep him safe, and help him keep others safe, but he still _can’t_. What about Satine, what about the Jedi Order? For once, those promises overlap, even if the reasons why are different.

He gets up from the ground and curls on his side in bed. Instinctively, he reaches out for Cody’s golden Force presence, and there’s a gentle nudge in response. Cody isn’t strong with the Force, able to sense it but not manipulate it, and he probably has no idea what he’s doing. Still, it reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of his old life in the Temple.

Cody gently nudges the edge of Obi-Wan’s presence in a repetitive motion, like he’s reassuring himself that Obi-Wan is still there. After a few minutes, Cody falls asleep, and his impression fades to a soft ember-glow.

Obi-Wan sighs and looks over at his bedside table, where his old plastoid armor rests. The pieces are scratched and scorched, the GAR emblem chipping away at the edges. He hasn’t touched them since the day he first left them here.

Does the _beskar’gam_ really represent the same thing? It’s part of a deep history, one to which Cody technically belongs.

He peeks over the edge of his bed and catches a glimpse of red-and-black paint. The impression of fading scorch marks and old blood drifts through the air, but this time, it’s tinged with just a hint of saffron, new growth. He remembers every time he’s put a hand on Cody’s armored shoulder and felt Cody pressing into his touch, the smell of fresh paint in 212th gold.

He won’t see Cody until they’re on the ground tomorrow, and maybe the tides of battle will keep them apart, although Obi-Wan realizes he doesn’t want that. It’s strange to want something outside the confines of his obligations to the Republic and the Order, but at the same time… it feels good to be honest with himself. He does want to be with Cody. He’ll have to explain everything, of course, especially Satine. Keeping secrets makes him uncomfortable, even secrets of omission.

As soon as he makes the decision, the knot of worry in his stomach untangles itself, and he feels almost peaceful. He’s not sure of the future—his own, the Order’s, or Cody’s—but he has to be honest. 

He hopes the armor still fits.

—

“General, what are you wearing?” Boil asks as soon as Obi-Wan steps on to the bridge. “I mean, not that you don’t look good.”

“Good?” Gregor scoffs. “He looks damn fine.”

Obi-Wan scratches the back of his head. “I don’t really intend to look attractive. Function over fashion.” The armor does cling to his form a bit tighter than strictly necessary, but not enough to affect his dexterity.

“I guess Cody finally got to you, huh?” Waxer asks from his position by the holotable. “He’s been harping on about you not wearing armor for ages.”

“Yes, he did manage to convince me,” Obi-Wan admits. “I acquired this on Mandalore.”

“Wow,” Gregor says, whistling. “That’s impressive. Is it made of beskar?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and there’s a large blaster rifle in Boil’s hands. Where had he even been hiding that? “Can we test it, sir?” Boil asks, cocking the rifle.

“Wait!” Obi-Wan yelps, “I mean, wait a minute, Boil. Yes, it is beskar, but I really would prefer not to test it on the bridge. Or while I’m wearing it.”

“Come on, sir, Boil is the fourth-best shot in the battalion, he won’t injure you unless the armor isn’t real,” Waxer says, earning him a glare from Boil. “I’m sorry, B, but you have to know that you’re not as good as Gregor, Longshot, or Crys.”

“Fine,” Boil concedes with no grace. “But among the non-ARC troopers, I’m definitely the best.”

Obi-Wan laughs. “Alright, we’ll test it later. I’m going to comm Cody and let him know that I’ll be on the field in Mandalorian armor.”

“Don’t tell Cody! Sir,” Waxer adds quickly.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Gregor chimes in, “You can surprise him.”

“I don’t know about that.” Obi-Wan misses the sleeves of his robe. “I think I should let him know beforehand.”

“But can you imagine the look on his face?” Waxer grins in a way that can only mean mischief.

“He’ll be wearing a helmet, Wax,” Boil points out. “We won’t be able to see.”

“Well, you’ll feel his surprise in the Force or whatever, right?”

“I suppose I will,” Obi-Wan muses. At least this will be suitably dramatic.

Waxer can’t stop grinning. “Please tell us how he reacts. Kriff, I wish I had a camera. I’m gonna comm him.”

Boil scowls. “Why do you get to comm him, but not me?”

“Because I’m going to up the intrigue, and hopefully the reaction. You’ll spill the beans to get a rise out of _me_.”

“You realize this is Cody we’re talking about,” Boil points out. “When Five-Brain-Cell Fives tried to fill the _Negotiator_ with glitter using a cargo bay full of fans, all Cody did was say he was severely disappointed. No yelling, no screaming. And you know anyone else would have been incandescent, standing knee-deep in holographic glitter like that.”

“Yes,” Waxer concedes, “But at the same time, I just like putting him on edge.”

Obi-Wan hopes this plan works—and for once, he has a good feeling about it.

—

Cody buries his face in Obi-Wan’s laundry and doesn’t come back up.

“Smell something you like?” Obi-Wan teases, tugging an undershirt out from the pile to fold.

All Cody does is mumble into the laundry and burrow a bit deeper. In the Force, Obi-Wan gets a firm sense of _warm, comfy, smells good_.

“I need to fold this, dear, otherwise it’ll get wrinkled.”

Cody groans in protest and hunches protectively over the pile of laundry. His presence buzzes and ripples at the edge in a _five more minutes_ way.

After a moment, Obi-Wan sets aside the undershirt and joins him on the pile, sinking knee-deep into warm fabric.

“S’good, right?” Cody slurs, not even lifting his head.

“Mmm.” Obi-Wan stifles a yawn and reaches out for Cody. Their fingers tangle together, and Cody taps out the same soothing pattern on the back of Obi-Wan’s hand.

Slowly, Cody’s breathing evens out, and his grip on Obi-Wan relaxes. The stress wrinkles smooth away and his wavy hair falls in loose curls around his face, transforming him into an ordinary man, maybe napping after a long day at work. Free from the weight of command.

Cody’s forehead wrinkles in his sleep, and he makes a tiny _humph_ of discontent.

_Never lasts long, does it?_

Sadness tugs at Obi-Wan’s chest. He reaches out in the Force and feels the beginnings of a nightmare starting to form, clouds gathering on a distant horizon. He gently pulls at the nightmare, teasing it out into fluffy white clouds. Cody’s mind fights him every step of the way, convinced that all these things will come to pass, that it’s a _warning_. Some of the nightmares are so old they’re just like memories—Waxer, shot in the back on a dark planet; Wooley, armor scorched and melting; Rex, trapped on a crashing ship. Obi-Wan pushes them back, leaving only pleasant dreams behind. There’s one about ice cream that’s particularly strong.

When he’s certain no nightmares will bother Cody, Obi-Wan is completely, thoroughly exhausted, and he flops down on the pile next to a peacefully sleeping Cody.

The nonstop campaigns and improving droid tactics have drained him more than he’ll ever admit. His eyelids start to droop, but he forces them back open because this isn’t the place to fall... asleep...

Obi-Wan blinks awake to find himself lying in a pile of not-so-fresh laundry. He tries to sit up, but there is someone on top of him who gently presses against his chest until he flops back down.

“Cody?” he murmurs. His hands find a familiar muscled back, and he traces his fingers over the raised ridge of a scar that cuts across his waist and up towards the shoulder.

“ _Cyare_ ,” Cody says softly, amber eyes blinking sleepily. He’s wearing one of Obi-Wan’s undershirts instead of his blacks, and it’s wonderfully tight across his chest.

“Hi, General.”

“Morning, sir.”

“S’too early, everyone go back t’sleep.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open. Cody is cuddled up against him, but there are also half a dozen others buried in the pile and snuggled next to Cody. Waxer and Boil have Wooley tucked between them like a kid in his parents’ bed. Where did all of them even come from?

“What’s a _cyare_?” Vess asks sleepily, half-buried under Waxer and Obi-Wan’s laundry.

The chrono beeps, loud enough that a ripple of displeasure washes over the pile of clones.

“Alright, everyone up,” Obi-Wan sighs. “It’s time to get an early start on the day.”

This is met with a chorus of assorted whining, bargaining, and threatening. Obi-Wan is prepared to push it all aside; there are meetings, places to be, supply routes and requisitions, _paperwork_. They don’t have time to lay about in the _laundry room_ of all places.

But Cody looks up at him with shining amber eyes, and the taste of peaches and cream flickers on his tongue, and the orders die unspoken.

“Okay, _cyare_ , you win.” He sinks back down into the dip in the clothes next to Cody. “This time.”

The group sighs in relief, and Obi-Wan abruptly finds himself at the bottom of a pile of sleepy, cuddly soldiers.

“You didn’t answer m’question,” Vess mumbles. “What’s a _cyare_?”

Obi-Wan rests his hand on the side of Cody’s face and is rewarded with a gentle nuzzle. “It’s Mando’a for _sweetheart_.”

This draws up several wolf-whistles and whoops from Cody’s previously sleepy brothers.

“Wow, you two are so gay,” Boil snickers.

Vess shakes his head. “You’re spooning your husband right this second, don’t even start.”

“Vess is gay!” Boil teases without missing a beat.

“I mean, yeah. Wolffe isn’t gonna date himself,” Vess says flippantly before he realizes exactly what he’s done.

Waxer nods to himself. “Knew it. Still cute, though.”

“Here’s a fun fact for you about Wolffe,” Cody says, and all eyes snap to him. “When he was a cadet, he got his name because he wouldn’t stop biting the trainers. But it was also because he thought the plastic wrappers on rations were some kind of chewy glaze, and he wouldn’t stop gnawing on them like a loth-wolf with a bone. He thought that for _years_. I think he still eats them when he isn’t paying attention.”

Everyone quietly files away that bit of blackmail.

“He does have a reputation for biting,” Vess agrees with a sigh. “I mean, so does the entire Wolfpack. I really should make sure he isn’t eating plastic, though, and find something else for him to chew on.”

“Does Wolffe ever bite you?” Wooley asks innocently.

Vess panics, eyes going wide. “Uh—”

Even more whooping starts up, and Vess gets his hair ruffled by at least three of his brothers.

“All of them are dumbasses,” Cody murmurs to Obi-Wan. “Don’t even have two brain cells to rub together.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be able to claim them as dependents on my taxes.” Obi-Wan grins, and Cody laughs quietly.

“You don’t even pay taxes.”

“Not even a bit.”

They snuggle a bit closer, using one of Obi-Wan’s knitted jumpers as a blanket.

“General?” someone asks after a moment.

“Yes, Waxer? Also... if we’re all in the laundry together, you might as well call me Obi-Wan.”

“R-right. Yeah. Uh. Obi-Wan, do you know Mando’a for _husband_?”

“Yes, it’s _riduur_.”

Waxer looks over at Boil, who makes a “meh” hand motion, then rolls his eyes, then says begrudgingly, “I love you, _riduur_.”

“I love you too, _riduur._ ”

Both of their gazes soften, then Wooley squeaks, “Okay, I’m getting out of here.” He scoots out of the way so Waxer and Boil can cuddle.

Obi-Wan pulls his own _riduur_ close, despite Cody’s protests. “So, who actually wants to do the laundry? And no cuddling this time.”

Everyone groans at that.

—

“What’s my name?” he asks, voice dangerously low.

“Obi-Juan Fett,” Cody says stubbornly. He’s still wearing Obi-Wan’s robe; or rather, he’s hanging in the air, held up by the back of the robe like a loth-kitten.

Obi-Wan shakes the robe until Cody falls out and lands with catlike grace on his feet. Not even a clatter of armor on the deck. Obi-Wan closes the distance between them, pulling Cody in by the edges of his _kama_. “I said, what’s my name, _cyare_?” he asks.

Cody tilts his head to the side, amber-brown eyes shining with innocence. “I think you’ll find,” he says, sliding his hands down Obi-Wan’s waist almost teasingly, “that it’s Obi-Juan Fett.”

Obi-Wan spares a curse for the armor between them and presses Cody against one of the windows of the bridge, wishing they could be closer. “Well, don’t count me convinced just yet.” The Force swirls around them, and he can taste saffron and honey and sunshine on his tongue. When he leans in and kisses Cody, he knows Cody can taste it too.

“I can’t believe we nearly crashed into another spaceship because those two wanted to flirt. I take it back, it’s not cute, it’s annoying,” Boil says drily from behind them.

Cody makes a rude gesture in Boil’s general direction and pulls Obi-Wan closer. His spark of energy bubbles like carbonated water with amusement and love. He hums the same two notes under his breath, not even realizing that they harmonize with the sound of the Cosmic Force.

Things aren’t perfect. It’s war, after all, and nothing is certain.

But his arms are around his husband, and the sun is turning the planet below to gold, and Obi-Wan can’t imagine his life any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and tossing a kudos or comment my way! I never would've finished writing this without your support. I hope you enjoyed _golden, like daylight_ , and I'll be on tumblr (@arwcn) until next time!


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